Listen …… Do you hear that?……. Silence
Henri Nouwen, on the topic of inner life writes, “Silence makes us quiet and deepens our awareness of ourselves and God. Silence opens up a space where the Word of God can be heard and received. The Word leads to silence and silence to the Word. The Word is born in silence and silence is the deepest response to the Word.” “In solitude(silence) we encounter not only God but our true self.”
We are often afraid to turn off the radio, tv, computer because it would be too quiet. Quiet allows our mind to wander to spaces not often visited. Quiet can indeed be scary as it leads one to think and react and tune into oneself.
I would like to share a story with you of my introduction to the wonder of silence.
Somehow I reached middle age before experiencing Lent and Easter. From early childhood I knew all about the Easter bunny. The time preceding Easter was spent in anticipation of the jelly beans hidden all over the house. I knew we would spend time painting boiled eggs. Maybe I would get a new, fancy dress. Why did we do all this? I had no idea.
I knew nothing about the other side of Easter. When I was six, my grandfather came to live with us and quietly taught me about God and Jesus. You need to know that my grandfather was my champion and his words of the four short years I spent with him have inspired me to carry on his vocation in the ministry. There was one story he used to read about Jesus being killed but – “Don’t worry,” he’d say, “because Jesus comes back and talks to people and then goes up to heaven to live with God, his father.” Yeah right. Who was Grandad kidding? I had visions of Jesus floating His way up through the clouds but was never sure of where or what heaven was supposed to be.
Now skipping ahead a few decades- our church in Niagara Falls, each year held a vigil during the last hours of Lent. From the conclusion of the Maundy Thursday worship until the break of day Easter morning, someone was sitting in the church. Waiting. Staying awake. Keeping watch in silence.
Very early Good Friday morning, I went to the church for what I thought would be a quiet time. I was the last after the lonely night and had a long shift waiting for the service to begin. I knocked on the outer door, looking up and down the empty street wondering why on earth I was there. The person I was replacing came to the door, we acknowledged each other with a nod as they went to their car and I entered the church making sure the door was locked securely behind me. I walked in and sat down in readiness for thought and prayer. But something was wrong. I couldn’t settle and I didn’t know why.
There was no direct light in the church except for a single candle burning on the sanctuary steps. I had helped to clear the altar the night before so I knew to expect emptiness. What I hadn’t expected though was the Presence Lamp, the Light of Christ, to be dark. I didn’t know that this lamp was to be extinguished and relit on Easter day. I felt desperately barren, as if I had been stripped of everything I had learned in the past year. I felt very much alone and vulnerable. Tears came unbidden to my eyes but prayer would not follow. I didn’t know where to turn, where to look. I spent a long time gazing at the floor under my feet and wondering if Jesus had left me or if he had ever really been there at all. I asked myself question upon question as to my faith. Where had it gone? Why was I so torn over a lamp being turned out?
After an hour of asking, I took to listening for answers. My thoughts spoke out loud to me, reminding me this building is not the Church. The Church is in one’s heart. And yet each time I looked up, there was only darkness. I wasn’t sure if I had deserted God or if he had deserted me. I was no longer sure that I had the faith I needed to carry on with my studies.
Somehow, those long hours turned into daylight. During the Good Friday worship, I paid particular attention to the rector’s words and the words of the Bible but I could still not look at the Presence Lamp. I couldn’t see ahead two days when it would again be glowing and vibrating with life. I heard the words but didn’t ‘listen’ to them.
After the service I cornered our rector and tried very hard to describe what I had been feeling. I’m not sure if he understood or not because he has known the secret for a long time and presumes that anyone, like myself, studying theology must also know. Finally I saw his eyes light up and he said to me, “Don’t you know what this means?” Obviously I didn’t or I wouldn’t have been so insistent upon getting answers. He then told me something I will never forget. In a very small voice he said, “Because the absence of the visual light bothers you so, it can only mean that Jesus has moved from the lamp into your heart. The lamp is now only a reminder, a symbol. Jesus lives within you, not within the lamp.” He went on to say, “You need to be able to see the Light of Christ in your solitude, for yourself, by yourself.”
Why couldn’t I have figured that out? Maybe because I had never known Jesus as well as I was coming to know Him. Maybe because I had never recognized Him within my heart and within my soul but only within my mind and my text books.
I stayed for the second worship that morning and listened more intently to the words being spoken and read. I was able to look at the darkened lamp and think to myself that as black as it had seemed that morning, I could now see the joy of the resurrection to come. The joy in my heart was caused by newfound knowledge.
So much can be learned in silence. I have found that it is here I can best communicate with God.
Nouwen writes: “Listen to your heart. It’s there that Jesus speaks most intimately to you. Praying is first and foremost listening to Jesus, who dwells in the very depths of your heart. He doesn’t shout. He doesn’t thrust himself upon you. His voice is an unassuming voice, very nearly a whisper, the voice of a gentle love. Whatever you do with your life, go on listening to the voice of Jesus in your heart.”
Learn to get in touch with the silence within yourself.
Listen to the silence. Live in the quietness.
Copyright © 2014 by Kay Baxter